Good Enough
by Liebling
Summary: ‘You may spread your soiled words and do your soiled deeds, but for whatever’s its worth, I will always love you.' Set during OotP. Arthur writes a letter to Percy.


'Percy,'  
  
His Father penned in green ink on the worn yellow parchment. His brows furrowed slightly and he pressed the feathered quill onto the parchment once again.  
  
'When I saw you for the first time my eyes gleamed with fatherly pride. You were our third, but I could tell you'd be different. Different from Bill and Charlie. My eyes welled up with tears and I'd knew you'd be great, son.'  
  
He paused to take a bite of the peanut butter cookie on his desk and continued to write, the green ink shimmering on the ancient parchment.  
  
'Your curly ginger hair stuck up in uneven tufts, it was so unruly, and hard to control. Just like you would soon become. Unruly and hard to control. You weren't some sort of easy child who was docile and simple. You fought us every step of the away. Every single step. You didn't accept what we said, you didn't listen or comply.'  
  
The graying man remained lost in memories and ruminations for a few minutes until he snapped back into his senses and continued writing in his messy cursive.  
  
'There were times when you were rebellious, disrespectful even downright rude. You gave your Mother every gray head on her head, except the one caused by Fred when he failed to get one O.W.L. I remember, distinctively saying to you when you were four and a half, "Percy, time to pick up your toys" and you looked up at me from your playing and said, "No. I don't believe it is." I merely laugh looking back on it, but at the time it was quite upsetting. Bill and Charlie had always been more than compliant, doing what we pleased, looking at us for direction. You always had your own direction.'  
  
He wrapped his light red cloak tighter around him; it was colder in the office.  
  
'We loved you, though. And secretly, your Mother and I always hoped that you knew. You weren't terribly lovable, Perce. You didn't like us to cuddle you, or read you story books, or help you out. It was like raising an adult, it's hard to raise an adult, you know. When you got older you were exactly what we had raised you to be, or rather what you had raised yourself to be. Strong, intelligent, wickedly rebellious, and quiet.'  
  
He looked upon the wall with the pictures of his family. They were smiling and giggling, putting their arms around each other and stepping on each other's feet. Percy had moved himself out of each and every picture. The older man's eyes began to well up in hot tears.  
  
'When Ginny was born, I remember you'd always taken a liking to the little girl with carrot cake coloured hair and reddening cheeks. It was the one person with whom you were incredibly affectionate with. She never cried when you held her, she just cooed in your arms. You towed her around in the old red wagon and as she got older nothing changed. Nothing ever changed with you, Perce. Sometimes I felt like I didn't have a little girl, sometimes I felt like she was all yours.'  
  
The tall man still bent over the piece of parchment reclined back in the wooden chair and then eagerly continued to write.  
  
'You've changed quite a bit now, your Mother and I always knew that eventually you'd break away from our moral core. It was simply a matter of time. You joined up with the Ministry of Magic, it was a job that suited your talents it was everything we could have ever wanted for you. We had a fight this summer, one of the largest we'd ever have. I know I said some harsh things and you told me, the cruel blue crystal eyes that you had glimmering, "Father," in this curt-voice as though you were fraternizing with the Minister of Magic himself, "I need to go now. Give Mother my regards. I will not be back for Christmas; I will not be back at all. Tell Ginny that forever she will be in my heart as my baby sister." And then you went out the door and slammed it behind you, taking your brown leathered suitcase with you.'  
  
The fight brought back anger in the man, anger he could not quite explain.  
  
'I must close, now. You may not talk to me, or to your Mother. You may spread your soiled words and do your soiled deeds, but for whatever's its worth, I will always love you. Not because you have been a great son, not because you have been fantastic, but because you are my son, and for once, that is good enough.'  
  
'-Daddy' 


End file.
